Delving into Winter Quay
by J. Puddles
Summary: It's been a while since Amy and Rory have been in Winter Quay. Prayers go unanswered. Screams. Curfews. Noises in the corridor. Nothing to help them but themselves. This might be a one-off, or have more chapters. Please R&R.


~ Author's note: I can't remember if they had to live in Winter Quay, or if through their returning to Winter Quay they could live a 'normal' life in America. For the sake of this fic, they're living in Winter Quay~

"You were supposed to save us raggedy man. You were supposed to save us. You've done it before, come do it again"

I pray facing the window, hoping that my silent cries for help will be heard and acted upon, rather than ignored, or heard then ignored. I hope you'll answer them like the day you did when I asked Santa about the crack in my wall, all those years ago. Raggedy man, I still remember you. I won't ever forget you, you don't have to worry about that. How could I? You made me see things that weren't there. But please come, rescue us. Appease our situation. I know you said you couldn't. Paradoxes and the like. But what about rule number one?

I smile at that thought, but I make is quickly vanish. He had shown us so much. But at the same time, so little. Much like he had only seen so much of the world himself. He had seen so little, compared to what was out there, yet he was so old.

I know you said not to. There was no coming back if I touched the angel, or the angel touched us. I hope Melody saved you from that angel whilst you mourned over our broken bodies. I'm sorry raggedy man. I'm sorry you had to stand over our broken bodies. It's not your fault. Nor is it mine. It was a fault in the situation. But, if you want to blame someone, something. It's mine. If I hadn't travelled with you, this wouldn't have happened. But then _you_ wouldn't have Melody.

I had to go with Rory. Marriage. You should understand, or you will, one day. Till death do us part. That was the vow. Yes, he had died, but he hadn't. He was still alive. _Still burning with fury and fire,_ but on another timeline – which I could, and did, get to. I couldn't deny him his life with me. I couldn't deny myself a life without Rory, more so knowing that I had a choice, a chance to be with him. That was the vow, and I didn't want us to be separated until death. I wanted to be with him until either he died, or I died. I had lost Rory so many times, and I refused to lose him again, especially when I could be with him, rather him waiting for 1000 years to see me again, or vice versa.

I do hope you and Melody are okay. Tell her. Tell her I'm sorry. I've tried to be her mum. I've tried to be there. Tried to watch her grow up. Time, eh? It's not right, neither is it wrong. It's just a messed up, jumbled old ball that none of us can solve. Tell her to be a good girl. Tell her. Tell her I love her too. And I always have, always will.

This place, I know there is nothing you, nor I can do about this situation but you need to know. This place, The Winter Quay. Do not come back. Ever. In this time, or another. Don't find your room – or another's for that matter.  
Just. Don't. Come.  
Promise me that Doctor. I know you have seen horrific and disturbing things in your life. I know you said that the Daleks were much, much worse. You said that they were the worst thing in the universe. But they're not. One 'Exterminate' and you're gone – perhaps with a little fear too. This place is worse. Much, much worse.  
You can escape the Daleks, or you quickly escape your life.  
Here, you live a life punished for being a life, and then if _they_ take your life. It's bad. It's not a quick snap of the neck like it used to be. I don't know what it's like. It sounds painful, no, more than that. Excruciating. Agonising. Inhumane. I reckon, if you spent time here, and I hope to God that you don't, you'll realise that the Daleks aren't the worst thing in the world. Trust me.

Doctor. It has to be said. The place where I am probably dead already, if not, I am in another time line.

Winter Quay. It feels like it's, well, haunted. And it is. Haunted of stories. Of shadows in the corner of your eye. Things you wouldn't normally see, things that aren't there. This place is haunted by all the people. The people who have been, who are, and you are yet to be. All waiting until their dying day. Their dying breath.

We hear them, Rory and I. We hear them. Young children crying out to their parents in the night. Scared of the monsters. And, I'm not surprised. I'm scared at my age. I don't know what a six year old would think. You have the teenagers calling out for the friends, parents, anyone. Even their enemy to help them. We hear the elderly calling out, groaning day and night due to their ailments.  
I suppose Rory and I are the lucky ones. Really lucky. We share a room. We have each other for company. We are together. We keep each other safe. But outside frightens us, even after all we've seen. The others that are here, well, the must be petrified. They think it's just the angels. We've got to let them think that. Firstly because we can't communicate with them to tell them any different. Secondly, they'd worry some more. _ A lot more. _

Most of them are alone. Scared – and rightfully so.

You hear footsteps outside on the corridor.  
_Of those from the past, the present and the future._  
You also hear them, the angels, outside the room, walking, patrolling. The creaking of the stairs and lifts. The childlike giggles of the child angels. The doors slamming. However, the angels don't weep to us. Not to us. Why should they weep to us? We're dead. Or, on the way to being that way. We're just here. Stagnant. Rotting in the dust. Only there is no dust. It's immaculate. But no one does the cleaning. Nothing gets changed. It's just clean all the time – coming from their energy. That's mine and Rory's thinking. We don't want to know what happens when we sleep.

We can leave our rooms, but only for a limited amount of time. But as long as you answer the phone when it rings in your room, or are in your room, then you're fine. If not, you get turned.

You told me back at the Byzantium that they were made of energy of some sorts. They are. And emotions. And they take their shape from us.  
I've heard it them do it. A teenager trying to be clever, smart, out trick them. Taken. Only it's not like that. You hear the poor wee kid crying. I've never heard such an animalistic cry come from a fellow human being before. It didn't sound human. It was distorted. Animalistic. He was screaming out for help. But we couldn't help him. We couldn't alleviate the pain, quicken it or stop it at all. He knew this too, he'd heard it before. Our doors are locked when this happens, like everyone elses, so we can't help. The cries are heart wrenching. Each time I hear a cry, I cry. It makes me think of you and River. The cries pull the heart strings of a mother. Rory has cried on occasion, wondering what happens if it was one of you two, or one of us?

And then there are people like Rory and I. Valuables. _Because we know you_. Yes, you, you raggedy man. Both Rory and I have wondered many-a-time why they haven't taken us already. Why they haven't made us into them. Surely that way they could obtain the information we know about you. We know we still have it, we remember it all. Unless they're saving us, some form of sacrifice? Or using us as a mode to get you to come so they can use you.

I have to admit, me thinking this is dangerous. Read Nineteen-Eighty-Four, if you haven't already. I'm sure it's in your library somewhere.  
Well, the angels are a lot like the thought police. They know what you're thinking, through your facial expressions, a lip tremors, a slight smile at the wrong time, at the wrong place. A sigh even. They know what we do in our room. Anything can trigger it, then they'll have you. Like they do to those they take on the corridor after their limit is up.

I want to know what they do to the body, but at the same time I don't. I know it's painful. I know it'll be long. It'll be longer than that if it happens to me. But is it worth it? A life stuff in here, or a minute being tortured? I don't even know what happens to us after we die here.

I know you can't save us, my raggedy man, My Doctor. But, thank you.

I hope you enjoyed it :) What do you think? Would you care for another chapter - not from Amy's perspective, but from the perspective of another person at Winter Quay, or from an angel? Thank you for reading :)


End file.
